She was drying her eyes and trying to look as if she had not been crying as the cab reached the town, when a young man on horseback, who was riding in the opposite direction, passed, caught sight of her, and turning his horse’s head, followed the cab into the station. She was late, and the ticket-office was already open. She had just taken her ticket, and was walking away, with her eyes upon the purse in her hand, when a voice by her side made her look up with a start. It was Harry’s. He was all mud-splashed with hard riding, his face was red and ashamed, and his voice was low and unsteady. “Miss Lane, let me see after your luggage. Do--do let me, or--or I shall never forgive myself!” She pointed it out to him very quietly, without a word except “Thank you.” He saw it put into the van, found a corner-seat for her in an empty second class carriage, helped her in, and stood by the door nervously twisting the heavy handle. “When are the holidays over, Miss Lane? When are you coming back?” “I am not coming back here.” She turned away her head; the tears were breaking forth again. “Not coming back! Why?” he cried, quickly. Her tears were flowing fast now. She looked at him with one swift glance of misery and reproach, and whispered brokenly: “You ought to know why. Betty--Betty saw you!” Harry sprung up on the step. “What--that day when I--when I behaved like--like a cad? And you are going away because of me?” The hasty, passionate nature of the lad was moved to a mighty impulse of remorse. She could only answer, pitying him and holding out her hand while she tried to smile through her tears: “Never mind--never mind! I have forgiven you long ago. I--I--I only told you because you asked.” He had seized her offered hand, when the guard came up to shut the door. “Going, sir?” “Yes!” cried Harry, carried away by the impulse of the moment. He jumped into the carriage, the door was locked, the train was in motion, and he and Miss Lane had started together for London. CHAPTER V. That night there was consternation at the Grange--Harry had not returned. His horse, which he had left in charge of a man he knew at the station, was brought back late in the day to Garstone, with the intelligence that his master had gone by the London train. The man said he thought it must have been a sudden determination of Mr. Braithwaite’s, who had only said, when he left the horse in his care: “I shall be back in five minutes, Tom. He’ll keep quiet enough; he doesn’t mind the trains.” Such a freak was not at all an unheard-of thing among the Braithwaites, and little more was thought of it after Sir George’s return home that evening, for he looked upon it as an escapade which would end in the truant’s return the next day with an empty pocket and the appearance of having been up all night.